


Changeling

by Catsitta



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Female Frisk (Undertale), Folklore, Gender-Neutral Chara (Undertale), Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, Post-Undertale Neutral Route
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-14 13:59:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16041893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsitta/pseuds/Catsitta
Summary: Forget not the promises made to faerie folk, because no matter how far you roam, the Underground will lure you back. Those touched by its magic belong to the realm below. Returning to her home town of Ebott City to start college, Frisk faces the consequences of a wish made long ago.Fem!Frisk/Sans | Post Neutral Route | Eventual darker themes | Rating for later chaptersInspired by European faerie folklore (and Labyrinth)





	1. [CONTINUE?]

**Author's Note:**

> My first written foray into the fandom. I've a half dozen other things floating on my laptop, but this one felt like the right one to start with. This fic is post 'pacifist' neutral route and assumes it as canon. Ie: Frisk never reset to try again, or reloaded to an old save point. Now, onwards to this weird conglomerate of ideas that may have a few hints and flavors of a certain 80's cult classic mixed in.

Much about Ebott City changed in the past decade. The park off Main finally replaced the dying bulb in its lone street lamp so it would stop flickering like scene out of a cheap horror movie, and some big name company bought out the little ice cream parlor down the road from where she used to live. On the whole it looked the same, childhood memories casting vague familiarity on nondescript stretches of shopping centers and office buildings. But in the little things, the kind of things that encompassed the small world of a kid, founded on routine, Frisk saw differences. Discrepancies. A neighborhood house renowned for its terrible green facade was painted white, with an equally plain picket fence. The sign outside the elementary school was digital now—apparently they started classes up already.

Sitting at wobbly steel cafe table, Frisk watched two pigeons fight over a french fry. Now that was a sight she remembered. Rickey's Bar and Grill was ever so popular with the birds, much to the owner's dismay, if the way he chased after them with brooms was any indication. It was lunch time. She could hear said restaurant next door abuzz with activity. She sipped her lemonade, a half-eaten muffin perched on a plate, waiting to be finished. Frisk recalled begging her mom repeatedly to come to this coffee shop for its sweets as a kid. The pastry was good but...something was missing. She couldn't quite place it. She decided to blame it on nostalgia.

Frisk rattled the cup. Just ice. 

“Whelp, guess that’s my sign that break time is over.”

Tucking away the muffin into her purse (wrapped in a napkin of course, but the inevitable crumbs that would litter the inside would have given her grandmother a fit), Frisk returned to her exploration. She'd spent the morning in the suburbs, checking out her old neighborhood, before driving downtown to scope out the area where she'd likely live for the next four years. That good ol' college commitment. Classes at North Ebbot University started in a couple days come Monday, and she was all moved into her dorm as of yesterday. Her roommate was some girl she didn't know but didn't seem the type to vandalize stuff, so Frisk headed out in her dad's old Ford truck, air conditioning on blast.

She slipped into the driver's seat of the dented blue hunk of metal parked at the meter that she called hers now. A gift when her family learned she was heading out of state for a degree. Frisk rattled the container of lemonade flavored ice cubes before popping it into the cup holder. It'd melt. As she started up the engine, she tried not to think about the strange looks on her parents’ faces when she mentioned where she was applying for college. Ebott held bad memories for them, not Frisk. If anything, the glaring void of white noise and unanswered questions was a temptation. She wanted to know. Felt that she needed to know.

Eight year old Frisk climbed a mountain. Authorities found the missing child alive but unconscious, clinging to a golden locket she didn't own, odd dust sticking to her sleeves, with a knife curled in one fist. Aside from a number of superficial cuts and bruises, the child was fine. Not even dehydrated despite her three day disappearance. Doctors had no answer why Frisk stayed catatonic for a week aside from trauma—something seen or experienced and the brain couldn't cope. When she stirred awake, there were questions...so many questions. For which she had no reply. Frisk couldn't recall climbing the mountain much less how or why. But after the event, she had a profound new fear of the dark and both yellow flowers as well as dusty places made her inexplicably sad. As for the locket they found on her that day...she wasn't sure if she was supposed to have it or not, but Frisk wore it always, tucked out of sight, resting against skin.

They moved states before she turned nine. Escaping the memories. The stares. The stigma that was the child who vanished from bed while the house was asleep and was found on the side of a mountain. No foul play was determined, but people talked. Lucky them that moving away from Ebott City returned their quiet, unremarkable life. Frisk, even without being known as the kid who climbed a mountain, couldn't escape. She was forever the odd one out, the weirdo, the child that made even adults a little uneasy. No one able to quite verbalize why being in the same room as Frisk felt wrong. She was just a kid, polite and soft spoken. 

Life after Ebott was lived in a daydream. Nose buried in books because friends rarely lasted, and bullies kept their distance, preferring to spread nasty rumors instead of actually confronting Frisk. It was lonely. She wasn't the quiet one until that fateful day. Family recounted with mixed humor how rambunctious and flirty Frisk was when she was little, always getting into mischief and introducing a different boyfriend or girlfriend every week. Funny to think about now considering her current lack of interest in dating.

The rumble of the truck's engine aggravated the building ache between her brows. Maybe it was time to call it a day before she worked herself into a migraine. Thinking too much on that gap in her memory never went well. Like her brain had set up an electric fence to keep Frisk out and was willing to leave the young woman curled up in a dark room to suffer just to keep it hidden. Still...coming to here felt right. Like maybe, even if she never found answers, she could find some peace.

Frisk pulled on a pair of sunglasses and glanced up towards Mt. Ebott.

It rose tall on the horizon, dwarfing the city like a sleeping sentinel of legends, ready to wake come the End of Days.

.x.

“How are you settling in? Is your roommate nice, what’s she majoring in? What about the truck? I told your father to get a new battery in that rust bucket before you left, can’t remember the last time he had it replaced.” Frisk smiled at her mom’s worried chatter, rolling brown eyes, comforted by the familiarity. Some things never change. Even when you grow up and move away, mothers still see you as their baby. Her smile dipped as she curled up a little smaller on her dorm bed, the lights off, the afternoon dripping into evening. “Sweetie?”

“I’m here, mom. Everything’s fine. Truck is chugging along and I’ve barely seen my roomie. She’s been out all day,” Frisk replied, leaning against a pillow. The bed was bedecked with blue, striped sheets—the kind stocked every year during those back-to-school sales, since regular bedding didn’t fit. Absently, she toyed with the foot of a worn goat plushie she won at a fair when she was ten. Azzie rode in the passenger seat the whole drive to the campus. So of course he got prime real estate on her bed when she wasn’t sleeping in it. “Miss you guys already.”

“You’re coming home during the winter break?”

“Duh. They kick us out for the holiday unless you have one of those special permission forms anyway, so you’ll be stuck with me a whole month.” Frisk pulled Azzy onto her lap, before twisting one of her own short, chestnut locks around a finger. She puffed, trying to blow slightly overgrown bangs to the side. “By the time I visit, you’ll be trying to figure out how to get me to leave again. Finally getting the house all to yourselves.”

Her mother laughed, “Right, right. Time to convert your bedroom into a gym. Sure your father could find a treadmill somewhere.” The image of her stocky, bespectacled dad being in the same general vicinity as a treadmill was pure entertainment. Klutzy man shouldn’t be trusted to walk down stairs much less use gym equipment unsupervised. He’d fall and break his nose within a week! Of course that’d give her mom someone else to hover over. Tiny she may be, but her wrath is mighty. One disappointed stare and you felt as if you were caught kicking puppies for sport.

The conversation fell easily between them. Teasing but insubstantial. Never broaching the underlying fear coloring each query. As well as they got along most days, Frisk and her mother had their fights. No bickering or screaming, nor any cruel words, but both knew when they were at odds with the other. Such as when her mom repeatedly asked why she would go back to Ebott, tried to sway her towards a different college with the other acceptance letters...and Frisk stubbornly held her ground, arguing that this was her choice to make. Maybe it was when Frisk raised her voice or the expression on her face, but in the end, her mother buckled, dropping the subject with slumped shoulders. She’d never seen the woman look so small. Frisk stood hardly an inch above her in height, but in that moment, it may as well have been three feet.

“Hey, I’d love to keep talking to you, but I’ve one of those mandatory meetings in five minutes. I should probably show or else I’ll have a RA breathing down my neck.”

“Alright sweetie, take care. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Frisk said, ending the call. For a moment, she stared at the smartphone’s blank surface before tucking the device into her pocket.

That night, once meetings and dinner were done, she returned to the sanctuary of her bed and opened up a book. Like Azzy, the book was a token from childhood that she couldn’t quite leave behind. It was a tattered little hardback with a greenish-grey cover, the title embossed on the front. Changeling, it read. Frisk knew it to be an sad little adventure about a girl who was switched at birth with a faerie, and set out one day to find her human family, only to discover that they had long since passed on, and the fae left in her cradle had died in infancy. Its parents switched them in wanting a healthy child, even if it would be a changeling, because after centuries of trying to conceive, theirs was doomed upon its first breath. Not exactly a happy tale. Even the ending was bittersweet. With the heroine caught between the choice to stay in the human world or return to hidden one she knew.

More than once she read the book late into the night, flashlight in hand, buried under the blankets, yearning for an adventure. Even after the ‘incident’. Frisk snuggled with Azzy, book propped up between them. Her roomie had headphones on and was watching a movie on a laptop at her desk, back turned. She smoothed a hand over yellowed pages and began to read aloud, her voice little more than a whisper, _“The sky was dark and cloudless, a full moon hanging high…”_

That night Frisk dreamt of an urgent voice but understood nothing it said, and woke to the fleeting scent of buttercups.

.x.

“Field trip?”

Frisk held the paper slip in one hand, crisp and waiting for a signature. Classes were in session barely a week and already they were going on trip. At least they weren’t going far. The US History professor always took his intro classes to Mt. Ebott at the start of the year, because being in the place where history happened was crucial to understanding it. Apparently. At least he was enthusiastic? She couldn’t imagine wanting to drag thirty odd students around in a state park for a Saturday morning.

Like nearly every freshman, her first semester was packed full of core classes that were mostly irrelevant to her major. Not that said major was set in stone. When writing applications she put Political Science—it seemed properly practical and would set her up to further her education in law. Maybe she would become some sort of ambassador or political representative. She could see eight year old Frisk now, traipsing through the living room with stuffed animals in tow, and announcing to her family how she was going to free their friends from the foul clutches of the hall closet. Negotiations involved cookies. The shadows between the coats liked chocolate chip best.

Shrugging away the itch between her shoulders, Frisk signed the slip. 

She was planning a trip there anyway. This would mean that she didn’t have to go alone. 

Leaning back in seat, she glanced around the room. There were more desks than needed, which was emphasized by no one sitting within two seats of her. Frisk was used to it, though it seemed like her classmates had yet to pin her as the weirdness yet. Eyes would slide over her and they would rub their arms, like a chill settled beneath their skin, as if their instincts were sensing an inexplicable threat. When they had to sit next to her, students that were normally the picture of composed started fidgeting in their seats, searching the room restlessly, notes left abandoned in favor of staring at the clock. Her roommate was doing better than most—though her frequent absence from their shared space and constant use of headphones might be the girl’s way of coping with being around someone so ‘creepy’.

In short, people weren’t cozying up to her, but no one was being outright cruel.

“Has anyone been to Ebott State Park before?” The professor asked. He stood tall and peppy at the front of the room, quite spry for an older gent with white hair, scanning for raised hands. What was his name? Easterly? She idly nicknamed him Prof. Bowtie, since he wore one every day to match his Converses. Strange combination since he was otherwise dressed for business. He made it work. 

Frisk lifted a hand, one of five students to do so.

“Ah, good, good, it’ll be a nice surprise for most of you,” he said, collecting the slips and prattling on about their next assignment. Lively he may be, but if his first week workload was anything to judge by, his was not going to be an easy class. Four-thirty arrived and everyone dispersed. It was Frisk’s last class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so she was done for the day. Once she had a better idea on how her schedule and workload was going to dole out, she would look into getting a job. That cafe was searching to hire part-timers…

Humming to herself, Frisk contemplated dinner and the readings she needed to do. No need to procrastinate, especially with newly made plans for Saturday. Lost in thought, she paid no attention to her surroundings until said surroundings collided with her. The poor person squeaked in surprise and their bag hit the floor, scattering loose leaf paper and pens all over the hallway floor. 

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention, here, lemme help,” Frisk kelt, picking up scattered materials before the other person could edge a word in otherwise. A hand caught her wrist, making Frisk pause and look up. She was met with startling red eyes. “Woah. Uh. Cool contacts. They perscription or…?” A laugh. They winked and nudged Frisk’s hand away from their stuff. 

“Nah, but the color is awesome, right? Looks normal from a distance, get real close to somebody and people freak. Surprised how chill you are about them.” A grin split their face, neither their appearance nor their voice gave any strong tells towards gender. They wore knee-length beige shorts and a green sweatshirt, and their messy brown hair was cut even shorter than Frisk’s. “You don’t gotta help me. I’m as much at fault as you. Pre Cal decided to scramble my brain and I was sorta walking in a straight line without looking.”

“It’s fine. I mean, two people are faster than one,” Frisk replied. 

That earned an amused snort all too quickly the pens and papers were packed away properly. Straightening up, they adjusted their leather messenger bag over their shoulder and clapped Frisk on the shoulder. “So what’s your name? Don’t think I’ve seen your face around before.”  
“It’s Frisk. I’m a freshman. Majoring in political science.”

“Ooooh, sounds boring,” they said, running a hand through their hair. No wonder it was so disheveled. “Whelp, nice to meet you Frisky. Name’s Chara. I’mma junior. As for major, eh, it changes.” They made a careless gesture. “I’ll pick one before my advisor has a stroke. Probably. She kinda looks ready to kick the bucket...though that may just be when she has to deal with my schedule.” 

“Troublemaker,” Frisk teased.

Chara propped a hand on their hip, “You know it.” After a moment, they pulled out a flip phone. Huh, maybe they had one of those gas station prepaid plans. “Here, lemme give you my number. Maybe we can hang out sometime or study or whatever.”

“Oh. Oh!” Frisk fumbled for her phone. For the first time in years, somebody other than family wasn’t bothered by her. Didn’t shy away like she was a rabid dog ready to eat their face and small children. Sure, the nickname was unexpected, but Chara was proving shamelessly straightforward. They said what they wanted, when they wanted. No hint of uncertainty. “Yeah, of course. I’d love to.”

They traded numbers.

“You busy?”

“No. My classes are done for the day.”

“I don’t feel like going to Economics today,” Chara said. “How do you feel about grabbing a bite at the student center? Then I can kick your butt at ping pong.”

Frisk paused for a moment, but nodded.

**[*making a new friend fills you with DETERMINATION]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross posted under this same name on [fanfiction.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13063943/1/Changeling)  
> I also have a [tumblr](https://catsitta.tumblr.com/) (because that's a thing).
> 
> I love feedback, so tell me what ya think. ^_-


	2. The Call

“What’s on your mind Friskies Bits?”

The object of her musings was staring back, evidently bored with the history textbook they were supposed to be reading. They were at a shady table outside the student center. It was Friday, Chara had no classes and Frisk had two more starting in about half an hour. Upon spotting Frisk studying, Chara dropped their bag on an empty chair and flopped in one across from her. Aside from hellos, they hadn’t spoken.

Frisk toyed with the edge of her Statistics book, “Just thinking about yesterday. When you yelled at that boy while we were getting drinks.”

Chara was, for lack of a better term, interesting. 

They approached life and people with a devil-may-care manner and had a flashfire temper that was borderline frightening. Such as when someone cut them off in a coffee line. Those red eyes went manic and their grin became a razor fit to slice open throats. When staring at the offender didn’t get the hint across, the litany of thinly veiled threats that poured out their mouth did. Frisk never heard someone tell another person that they’d ‘introduce their skeleton to their smiley, long lost cousin under the mountain if they didn’t move’ before. Once the point was made, they were back to normal, posture loose.

Frisk pondered why this attitude didn’t spook her. That first time Chara’s mood flipped like an olympic gymnast out for gold, she should have second guessed ever handing them her number. But she didn’t. They felt...comforting. Like the older sibling she never had. 

“What about it?” Chara leaned over the table, chin resting their knuckles. “Guy thought that just ‘cause he was some big football player that nobody would tell him off for cutting in line. I showed’em. Heh.”

“Did you have to be so mean?”

The pair watched each other, the tension falling when Chara smiled, snickering as if Frisk told a bad joke, “Do you have to be so nice?”

“Hey! Being nice is important. You never know what people are going through in their lives.”

Chara scoffed, “Doesn’t mean you should be a doormat. Look, humans have the bad habit of being awful. They lie, cheat, steal, do whatever it takes to get ahead and make themselves feel big and powerful. They take nice people like you and chew ‘em up.” A trace of vulnerability flashed across their face, eyes a little unfocused. They curled their fingers, blunt nails digging into the flesh of their palm. “Most of the time it’s not worth the headache to try being nice. They cuss you out, flip you off or just ignore you. But if you grit your teeth, look ‘em dead in the eye and make yourself the bigger, badder person in the room, they don’t cross you again. They don’t get it in their head they can use you. Push you around. Sure, they may think you are twelve kinds of crazy, but I’d rather stand on my feet than let someone step on me like a rug.”

Frisk slouched in her seat, heart beating faster at Chara’s speech, a deep seeded part of her humming uncomfortably. It was obvious from that little speech that her new friend was hurt by someone in the past. Badly. Perhaps for that same reason they always wore oversized sweatshirts, the sleeves covering all but the tips of their fingers.

“Awe, don’t look at me like that,” Chara hid their face.

“Hey Chara.”

They peeked between their fingers, “Yeah?”

“I get it. I think understand why you do what you do.”

“Yeah?”

Brown met unflinching red, “You’ll do whatever your heart and soul tells you is right. Be that standing up to guy three times your size or jumping in a pool to pull a drowning person out. Despite everything the world may throw at you, what people may do to change you...you’re still YOU. You’re stubborn.” Gluing together the broken pieces with sheer will power and audacity, first to lash out at a threat because it means you’re still alive. 

They rose from their seat, running a hand through their hair, “I prefer determined.”

“Five points for the vocab word of the day,” Frisk winked.

“Humph. I know when I’m not wanted. Get to class, Frisbee.”

“Frisbee?”

Chara slung their bag over their shoulder, “Yeah, cause I could throw you if you wanna pick that fight.” A pause and then Frisk erupted in laughter. Chara’s face was twisted into one of revulsion, “God, that sounded worse out loud than in my head. Punch me if I ever say something stupid like that again.”

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s…” The white noise in her brain fizzed and snapped, warning away blotted out memory. Leaving behind only the faint smell of ketchup and damp, winter air. Frisk skittered away from the mental barricade before she gave herself a headache. “I thought it was funny.”

.x.

Saturday arrived in a bleary haze of coffee and fumbling for an acceptable pair of pants.

When did waking up at six in the morning become such a chore?

Frisk shuffled out of the dining hall, steaming styrofoam cup in one hand, phone in the other, a chunk of toast jammed between her teeth. She crunched absently on said toast. Burnt and buttery. Could be worse. She washed down the last bite with a gulp of much needed caffeine, still in motion. A half-oiled machine in progress. At least she didn’t choke or spill it all over herself. Victory.

Thoughts a muddle, she made it to her truck with minimal issue and threw herself into the driver’s seat. They were responsible for their own transportation to this class field trip, and of course, everybody who needed to carpool found somebody else to drive them. Saved Frisk the trouble of waiting for someone or figuring out where they lived if not on campus. She could enjoy the quiet of the mid-September morning, it was actually cool enough to not sweat buckets, and morons weren’t trying to run her off the road with their subpar driving. 

Frisk started up the engine. 

It was about half an hour drive to the park.

Might as well get going.

35 minutes, 5 red lights and a little old lady in minivan going 15 in a 40 later, Frisk pulled into the state park, entrance ticket hanging from her rear view window. The ranger waved her in with a smile before turning his attention to the next car. It wasn’t too long before she found a dirt and gravel parking lot, a few other students and Prof. Bowtie milling around by a direction sign. Frisk parked, her throat gone dry, hands too tight on the steering wheel. Stepping out of the truck, she looked up, a shiver passing through her body, a breeze whispering beneath her blue tank top and denim shorts.

Mt. Ebott. 

This was the closest she had ever been to the mountain since the ‘incident’. Trees grew in patches around them, the ground rocky. The air felt thinner just looking at Ebott’s towering peak. They weren’t hiking far today, but Frisk planned on staying after the lesson was over and they were left to their own devices. She swallowed and joined the others, ignoring the nagging urge to get back in her truck and drive until the mountain not even a spec on the horizon.

.x.

The history of Mt. Ebott was a sad one. Like many places in the world, during the colonization era, native peoples were suppressed, and in the end, exterminated through forced labor, murder and disease. Before they fell victim to european conquest, the native population was a small but flourishing tribe with a few hundred members. They revered the land and art left behind shared tales of the very mountain itself. From what anthropologists could gather, they believed humanoid-animal spirits lived inside the mountain, and would lure village children away to feast upon should they become displeased. They even had a doomsday myth, like many cultures, where if the spirits became enraged, they would erupt from the mountain as a swarm and possess any human they saw, becoming hulking, monstrous abominations that would go on to destroy anything living in their path.

Morning was fading into afternoon when Prof. Bowtie ended the field trip. They had walked up a well-worn path, viewed a number of information signs and toured an onsite museum that was a single room that housed a collection of half-assembled pottery and pieces of tools. Not a bad day, though there a number of vacant expressions worn by classmates, and a few had given up on attempting to look interested and were playing games on their phones. Frisk, well, she wished she could say she was in rapt awe, but the longer the day wore on, the more her head hurt, and now a persistent throb settled behind her right eye. Urg, migraine. Definitely a migraine.   
Common sense said to leave and come back a different day, when she was feeling better, but a different part, the same part that had her in a standoff with her mother about attending college here, whispered to stay. Begged her to fight through the ache. A little longer. Just a little longer.

As her classmates scattered, most returning to their cars, Frisk drew in a ragged breath, popped a couple ibuprofen she kept handy for her headaches, and trekked up the walking path. Tennis shoes weren’t the best for long hikes, but they would suffice, and she had half a bottle of water tucked in her bag. Likely said bottle was covered with muffin crumbs that she hadn’t managed to clean out, but that wouldn’t do much but make it a little weird to the touch. At least the scenery was calming. Smooth planes of earthen browns and stony greys intermixed with the warm yellows of dried grasses. Ruddy red of clay snaked veins through rain parched soil, dusty and cracked where its thirst was denied. Greens were in patches, scattering along branches and tangling low to choke out the less hearty plants. A hint of white danced in spatters, tiny flowers blooming despite the heat.

At least it was cooler the higher one went. Not cold. She was far from the towering peak. 

Had she come on this walk in prime condition, this would have been a serene experience. As it were, an hour later found Frisk leaning against a tree, miserable.

This was a stupid idea.

The stupidest of ideas.

She was stuck in the middle of a hiking path, hardly able to see straight, during the hottest part of the day. Way to go Frisk. _Way. To. Go._ Shakily, she pulled the water bottle out and sipped, before fishing around for her cell. It was in here somewhere. 

“Ah! Gotcha,” her triumph was short lived, as when she pulled the smartphone free, it slipped through damp fingers and skittered across the ground, burying itself underneath the leaf litter. “Well fuck.” She wasn’t prone to swearing, but it was cathartic when life decided to take a jab when she was down. Frisk fought against the ache in her skull, and knelt, rummaging in the loose debris. “Hm, where did you go?” Her hand brushed plastic. “Oh, there you are. Wait. This isn’t it.”

Frisk stared at the outdated brick in her hand. Looked like some kind of knock off Nokia from over a decade ago. A couple keys dangled from the bottom. Someone wasn’t getting into their house today. Suddenly, it started to ring. Likely the owner trying to call it to figure out where the dinosaur was hiding. What timing! She clicked answer and went back to sifting through the leaves for her own cell. “Hey, found your…” Frisk flinched as a burst of static hissed into her ear. “Yikes! Okay, ow. Um, whoever you are, if you can understand me, I found your phone on the walking path at Ebott State Park. I’ll bring it to the visitor information station so you can pick it up.”

The static continued, ebbing with the rise and fall expected of speech.

She was struck by an eerie sense of deja vu. 

How can static sound...urgent?

There was a beep. Call must have dropped. Frisk looked at the tiny screen. Unknown number. Made sense for someone who was borrowing from somebody to try and locate their device. Maybe...maybe she could help this poor person out by calling one of their contacts. With luck the connection would be better, since she doubted her message went through properly. It took a moment, but she found the contacts. Huh. Just a few numbers in the list. At the top was MOM. Perfect. 

Now, where was her cell….?

A couple minutes later, Frisk had her phone tucked in a pocket, and the knock off Nokia propped at an ear. Today was a total bust. She was tired, sweaty and in enough pain that her stomach roiled. It also didn’t help that she couldn’t seem to find a signal. She’d given up on her own phone since it was deciding to be a brat and overheat, but no matter how many times she dialed MOM or the UNKNOWN number, she hit dead air. The battery was also running low.

“Sorry whoever you are, I’m trying,” Frisk said, sighing as the call once again failed to go through. She had to head back down. Phoning for help wasn’t going to work. As she tucked away the brick with her own cell, Frisk was once more hit with that deja vu. Like she had been in this exact spot sometime before. She peered around. Just rocks and trees. And humming. Frisk rubbed her temples as the white noise in her head seemed to light up, filling her vision with spots and sparks.   
She stumbled.

A branch sliced into her arm. Frisk twisted. Another step. Her back hit the trunk of a tree. CRACK. Something gave. No. NO! Another step. Backwards. Backwards. She couldn’t catch her balance. Down. She was falling. Frisk braced herself for impact. 

An impact that didn’t happen.

Down.

Down.

Down.

_'I’m going to die.'_

That was Frisk’s last thought before the world went dark with a sickening snap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Frisk falls down a hole. We all know that this is only the beginning of the journey. Wonder what's up with that phone though...Hm...
> 
> Cross posted under this same name on [fanfiction.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13063943/1/Changeling)  
> I also have a [tumblr](https://catsitta.tumblr.com/) (because that's a thing). Should I do update notices or something with it? +shrugs+ I'm working on some cover/concept art for this story. Should have that posted up soonish? Because I have nothing better to do at work at the moment than doodle. +cough+


	3. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: blood and moderately graphic major character injury

**[*You’ve only just begun, Frisk. You can’t quit now. Stay DETERMINED.]**

Pain.

Frisk stirred from the black of unconsciousness, agony chasing away the numbness of sleep. Or was it shock? She couldn’t move much. Her finger tips curled sluggishly, limbs feeling disconnected save for the lightning searing up her left arm. Sticky eyelids peeled open, crusted shut by dried sweat and tears. Her head rolled to the side, world swimming like candy fish in a jello bowl. There was yellow. A lot of yellow. And red. That red was her arm. No wonder it hurt with the finger wiggles. Frisk drew in a slow breath, choking on the aroma of buttercups and blood flooding her lungs. 

Her gaze pulled up towards the meek spotlight of sun pouring from above, diffused by the swallowing darkness of the cavern. She was lucky to be alive. Falling from that height should have done more than broken an arm. Frisk rolled onto her uninjured side, hissing as she attempted to sit up, movement jarring the break. She didn’t look at it. She didn’t want to see what was likely pearly bone jutting through skin, crimson gleaming wetly, blood flowing fresh from dislodged clots. She didn’t want to see dirt, leaves and petals sticking to dried stains, clinging to once damp wounds, littering her body in a parody of much needed bandages. She just...didn’t want to see it. Because if she saw it in full, horrible glory—she might not make it out of this hole, stunned by the ever-so-helpful mental reminder that bones shouldn’t be visible.

_‘You looked once already.’_

Something dribbled down her wrist, a little raindrop upon ruined flowers. Frisk told herself it was sweat, then strained to her feet, legs crumbling pillars of sand in a rainstorm. Her torso tensed and trembled, uninjured arm held stiff against the urge to sway, eyes clenched shut. Throbbing pain spidered up ankles and built webs at quivering knees, hollows of joints kept from buckling by the thinnest of threads. 

Frisk fumbled with her bag. A now empty bottle of water was little more than a crushed ball at the bottom, two phones nested on top, cuddled up with a cheap wallet and car keys. She pulled out her cell, thumbing the shattered screen with mounting desperation. No life flickered on. Useless. She pulled the brick phone out next, not at all surprised by its survival, though the blinking battery symbol warned her that it too was on its last dregs of viability. All she needed was one successful call. 911. Frisk dialed the number, shuddering when the call went nowhere. 

“Mom. Dad. I’m sorry,” she said, warmth beading down bruised cheeks. The red eyes of her first real friend in years arose in her mind. “Chara…” Frisk stumbled out of the flower patch and stared at the sheer expanse of the stone walls surrounding her. The child that climbed a mountain so foolishly let it swallow her up as an adult. Except this time, there would be no timely rescue. Who would report her missing? She was an adult, they have the freedom to do as they please, police would hesitate to consider her lost within 48 hours. Would Chara think she was simply busy and continue on their day, not questioning why Frisk wasn’t answering texts? Would one of her professors even notice or care that the weird kid was gone? Would the park ranger investigate the blue truck parked in their visitor lot? That was her best bet. A ranger. 

She swallowed, forcing herself to hold onto resolve.

To not panic.

Not all was lost.

A park ranger would come looking and discover this hole. It was close to the walking path. She’d be home by tomorrow evening. She just had to stay determined. And survive. Frisk pointedly refused to look at her arm. Refused to think about the steady drip, drip, drip. She peered down at the Nokia knock off. The buzzing white noise in her brain lost amongst the other signals her body screamed at her to acknowledge. Frisk thumbed to the contacts list, staring at MOM as the urge to press call echoed like fireworks. 

Pressing the worn, green-marked button, she listened to it ring. Unlike the 911 call, it went through. Frisk held her breath, hoping that the woman on the other side picked up. Hopes of an early rescue were dashed as it went to voicemail, the generic message bidding her to leave one of her own. It was stupid. She should be trying to call the cops instead of doing this, but today was full of stupid decisions. “Hey, you don’t know me, but I could really use some help. My name’s Frisk, and I fell down a hole off the walking trail at Ebott State Park. I found this phone while hiking...I...please, send help…” Frisk paused and looked at the phone. It was dead. She wasn’t even sure if she recorded a message, much less if it went through.

Frisk inhaled slowly, phone tucked away once more.

 _‘You should really do something about that arm, Frisky Bits. I’m no survivalist, but leaving an open wound like that is just asking for trouble.’_ Great. Now she was hallucinating. Weird for her inner dialogue to sound like Chara. _‘Well, Friskies, you gonna sit around and hope you don’t die, or put an effort into staying alive?’_

She pushed away from the wall. Staying put meant the best odds of rescue, but just waiting could mean death as well. Pain induced hallucination Chara had a point. If she wanted to be rescued, she had to live long enough for that to happen. Vision hazy and movements sluggish, Frisk searched for anything that may increase her odds of survival. A few sticks littered the cavern floor, cast from above and left here to dry or rot. She couldn’t set the bone, but maybe she could make a haphazard sling? It was warm down here. With luck it wouldn’t get too cold at night, that way she could use some of her shirt as a wrap. There were a few rocks with sharp edges she could use to hack at the fabric until it would tear. 

Picking up a handful of sticks, Frisk staggered out of the pooled light, searching for trash that might have been blown in from above. A plastic bag would be helpful right about now as a makeshift rope to hold together her imagined contraption. In her exploration, she noticed something odd. The cavern opened up into a tunnel, which in itself wasn’t odd, cave systems were common in this area. What was bizzarre was the clean cut nature of the tunnel. The walls felt....constructed. Her hand smoothed across flat planes and dipped into equidistant crevices. Like bricks. Frisk kept walking, drawn forward by foolish impulse and curiosity, stilling only when the path ahead grew brighter, lit by a source that laid ahead. She could see the squared outline of a doorway, framed in what appeared to be painted wood. There was a symbol carved at the top. 

She should turn back. Basic common sense and animal instinct begged her to wander back to the flowers, make a sling and wait for help to arrive. Frisk peeked into the room. Another spotlight of sun filtered in from above, weaker but present. A patch of greenery sprawled across broken tiles, mother nature victorious where mankind fell negligent, cracking apart the stone floor as if it were sugar glass. Frisk stumbled to the grass and knelt, dropping too heavily on her knees for comfort. She was tired. So very, very tired.

“Heh. Weird, why do I feel like somebody else should be here?” Frisk swallowed the delusion, blaming it on what was likely a head injury. One positive in all this, her migraine was gone! Maybe. Or between the broken arm and concussion she couldn’t discern the pain or place blame on it for her shoddy sense of balance. With one hand, Frisk began the slow, pitiful process of making a sling. Her shirt had a bloodstain along one side, and after what was likely an hour of carving it apart with a rock and a few creative poses to rip it, the tank top became a crop top. Knots were a nightmare one-handed. When she finally had something viable, Frisk dully noted that her injury was bleeding again. Whelp. Looks like the rest of the top had to be used as a bandage. Thank god for sports bras. The golden chain of her heart necklace glimmered against her skin, the pendant gleaming at the hollow of her collarbone.

The end result of her efforts was a hideous amalgamation that looked five seconds and a sudden sneeze from falling apart. But she no longer bled everywhere, and could claim she made an attempt to keep from furthering her injury. Victory! Oof. Okay, no celebrating. It hurt. Frisk rose to her feet with elephantine effort. She shouldn’t have wandered from the spot where she fell. Getting back there would be a trial. One she was just stubborn enough to do.

_“You know, you can’t turn back. That’s not how it works.”_

Frisk stiffened from her spot by the doorway, glancing back at the green patch to see a petulant buttercup. One may ask how can be a buttercup be petulant? It had a face. And could talk. It was official, she had hit her head when she fell and was still unconscious on the ground, and this was a twisted fever dream playing out in her last moments before the embrace of death. 

The flower studied her, its frown deepening. “You should know that. Unless, have you forgotten?” The flower looked almost sinister as it began to laugh, “You have! Oh, this is priceless. Bet you don’t even know why you’re here, either. Or where here is.” It plastered on the fakest smiles she’d seen in her life, “Howdy, my name is Flowey. Flowey the Flower. You must be awfully confused. After all, you are the idiot that managed to fall back Underground!”

“W-who are you?” Frisk took a step back, “What are you?”

It cackled instead of answering, “Oh, I just can’t wait to see what will happen.” Frisk flinched as something snaked around her ankles. Vines. “I’ll let you go with a warning.” His laughter continued as he lifted Frisk up effortlessly and half flung her into the hallway opposite of her intended destination. “It’s kill or be killed down here, try not to forget THAT. Or do. I don’t really care. Might be funny watching you try to play nice again...too little, too late.” Frisk landed on the ground and the impact sent sparks of black through her vision. The world started to pixelate inwards and despite trying to claw back to the brink of consciousness, Frisk slipped.

**“W E L C O M E B A C K.”**

.x.

Darkness chased and devoured. Voracious. Insatiable. There was nothing but black upon black. Dark, darker yet darker. It seeped. Chilled. Consumed. There was no light, no heat, no breath. Just tangible nothingness and palpable fear. Void. The open maw of an obsidian-toothed wyrm—ripping, pulling, crushing, tearing.

And then, there was a single pinprick of OTHER.

Something akin to light.

It flickered. Shifted. Reached.

It existed in the nothing. A spec of movement in the vast abyss of oblivion. It curled and writhed, lacking form or frame, as amoebic as shadows at the bottom of a lake. But it existed. It was OTHER. And it spoke. It’s vocalizations nothing but clicking and static, a malfunctioning radio on blast. 

The impossible cold became colder.

Suddenly, the darkness faded, warmth and light returned. And, as if time itself reminded the mortal realm that it was a force of nature, Frisk sucked in a breath. Blinking awake. It was a nightmare. Her whole form was soaked in sweat. Was it because of the dream or because of infection setting in? She writhed, trying to sit up, but her body was tangled up in...in...blankets? This wasn’t the floor of the cavern. It was a bed. The air was stale and smelled strongly of dust, as if this room hadn’t been used for a very long time. The blankets themselves bore the mustiness of age, the kind cloth assumed after being stowed away too long, clean but unused.

She shifted, one foot judging the span of the bed. A twin, with a wall to her injured side, no sign of restraints. Maybe she was rescued by a kindly old spelunker that didn’t have many guests. One that lived in a cave system under the mountain. Yeah. And that whole talking flower incident was just an extended delusion brought on by a head injury. Speaking of that...she was pretty sure sleeping with a possible (definite) concussion was a bad idea. Though, her head did feel better. No migraine (for certain this time) and no other tangible aches. She felt around with her good hand, wincing at the texture of crusted blood. Hm.  
Frisk froze at the sound a door easing open. Her eyes went wide upon seeing her likely rescuer.

There, framed by a soft yellow glow, was a skeleton. The literal embodiment of death and decay. Hollow sockets where eyes should be, an inhuman smile fixed wide on its pallid skull. If not for its attire and the distinct lack a scythe, Frisk would think it the reaper himself come to whisk her away. If it was Grim, well, apparently it was casual Friday. He wore an unzipped blue hoodie over a plain white tee, basketball shorts, and fuzzy pink slippers. In his phalanges was a tray, a bowl and a cup resting on top.

Death was bringing her breakfast in bed. 

She swallowed and fought back the urge to laugh at the nonsensicalness that was this twist in her life. First she survived a fall from a grievous height, then assailed and insulted by a talking flower, and now she was tucked in a cozy little bed with a skeleton at the door with food. This couldn’t be real. Not. At. All.  
Frisk shivered as the skeleton approached, only the shuffle of his slippered feet making a sound. He laid the tray down at an end table by her head. There was a rattle and clink, ceramic and glass settling in place. The skeleton paused, instead of leaving, twisting to peer down at Frisk. Its sockets weren’t empty. Flat discs of white floated in place of pupils. It inhaled sharply (how did it do that without lungs?), air whistling through its nasal cavity. 

“you’re awake,” it—he said. His voice was a deep rumble, soft with the barest trace of unnatural echo, almost as if he were mumbling through that permanent smile. Frisk blinked up at Death, struggling to focus on exactly why he felt familiar. He smelt of ketchup and winter air. “heh. didn’t know what i’d find when tori told me to check out the ruins. thought it might be a human...just wasn’t expecting you...yet.”

“Me?”

He pulled something out of his pocket–her necklace, pendant sparkling in the light draining in from the hall, “been a while, kiddo. ten years, give or take.”  
“That’s mine. Give it back,” Frisk reached for it, only to be toppled by a surge in pain. 

“wouldn’t go and move a skele-ton, if i were you. healing aint my gig. You don’t got a high femur anymore, but your arm is still in pretty bad shape.” He tucked the necklace away, “once you’re a little more mobile, we’ll get you to tori for a proper fix up.”

Frisk sat up, ignoring the aches, “I’m not going anywhere with you. Not until you give me answers.”

Those eyelights flickered over to the tray, “you should eat, kiddo.”

“No.”

The skeleton shrugged, “no skin off my nose if you don’t. just means you’ll be in pain longer.” An eyelid (how did he have eyelids?) shut in a casual wink, “you really don’t remember any of this, do you?”

“...The flower asked the same thing.”

“oh?” He shuffled towards the door, “eat then catch some more sleep, pal. you gotta get your hp up before i get to explaining things.”

HP. Like a video game? “I want to leave.”

That grin of his grew impossibly wider, “funny. you did that already. look how that turned out. don’t think you’ll manage doing it twice.” He stepped out into the hall, “see ya in the morning.” The door shut behind him with a click, leaving Frisk with a dawning realization. 

She did more than climb a mountain a decade ago.

She just didn’t remember what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, does this count as slow burn yet? How's my narrative pacing?
> 
> Frisk meets two familiar strangers, but something isn't right. In fact, a lot isn't right. Maybe it's the head injury.
> 
> Cross posted under this same name on [fanfiction.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13063943/1/Changeling)  
> I also have a [tumblr](https://catsitta.tumblr.com/). Now with WIP cover art! Check it out.


	4. The Door

_“Mt. Ebott has a long history of mysterious disappearances and befuddled travelers. The native people claimed it was the work of the spirits living in the mountain; even nowadays, the more superstitious folk claim there are demons or other such ill meaning figures luring people into hell. Of course, it is easy to explain away what is occurring. Often it is altitude sickness, individuals unused to the lower oxygen levels pushing too far, too quickly. They can become sick or confused, and given the treacherous terrain, likely end up meeting a rather unfortunate end. Even for locals, if they are less fit or young, such as children, straying away from the set paths could be deadly. Gruesome but far from paranormal. Any questions?”_

_Prof. Bowtie flashed a pearly smile before moving towards the next information sign. Students followed in a lethargic huddle. Frisk sipped from a water bottle, the explanation not sitting right in her stomach. There were too many questions lingering for altitude sickness to be the only factor at play. It didn’t explain why she ended up so far from home in the first place. Mt. Ebott was a drive away and yet, there was no proof someone took her there. No signs that someone grabbed her in the night and stole her away to the park._

_She capped the bottle._

_Answers weren’t about to walk up and say hello. Ten years as a long time, but she couldn’t leave the space in her memory full of radio static. Not when she had a chance to puzzle in a missing piece or two to help bridge the gap. They said memory loss was a way for the brain to protect itself from trauma. Cracking open the barriers could awaken suffering long since locked away. But she would know...she wanted to know.  
_

.x.

Frisk groaned and blinked away the murky haze clouding her vision. She hadn’t fallen back asleep, not really, but after the skeleton left, her strength failed and she laid on the blankets, lost in thought. The shut door was tempting, but even if she made it across the room and it wasn’t locked, she was in no shape to get far. She had no idea where this place was compared to where she fell. It could be miles. Bleary, she stared at the tray and its offerings. Eating food from strangers was a bad idea, but what was one more in the grand parade of terrible ideas that culminated in this moment? It made no sense to ‘rescue’ her only to off her with poison. Maybe it was drugged. She winced as she sat up. Second thought, hopefully it was drugged. Might make moving bearable.

Cradling her injured arm to her chest (it was no longer her catastrophe of a sling, instead it appeared that the bone was ‘set’ then wrapped in bandages), Frisk reached up and grabbed the handle on the bowl. It was, upon closer inspection, not a bowl at all, but a soup cup. Bright yellow with a chip on the rim, filled with a cloudy broth that smelled thickly of salt. There was a spoon and a glass of water left on the tray. Her stomach twisted at the prospect of eating, hunger reminding her that all she had since early morning was a piece of toast and some coffee. 

“Here goes nothing,” Frisk tipped up the cup...and gagged. Oh that was awful. Like someone boiled a pot of fishbones and algae with seawater until they were left with a thickened ‘stock’. The texture was indescribable. Not quite gelatinous, but certainly denser than water while lacking the grittiness of flour. Urg. Frisk swallowed, a shudder running up her spine. To her surprise, some of the achiness in her body faded. She blinked down into the cup. Painkillers? Bolstered by the hope of numbing the pain enough to make an escape, Frisk down the rest of the bowl as quickly as she could manage, choking past the awful taste. Water never was so welcome until that moment, where she laid the soup cup aside and washed her mouth out.

She sucked in a few breaths, winded by her marathon chugging spree, before assessing her new situation. Her body didn’t hurt half as much and she no longer felt like collapsing because she dared sit up too fast. Escape time. Frisk slipped out of the bed and picked to the door, suddenly aware that her feet were bare. The skeleton must have removed her shoes. So where were they? She absently rubbed her arms before a thought struck her. She wasn’t just in her sports bra anymore. A sleeveless top had been pulled over it, the material possessing that overwashed thinness that was suited only to summertime.

Or when one had a high fever.

Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, Frisk pulled at the door handle. It swung open with a faint creak, casting that yellowish glow back into the room. There were no other noises or signals that it alerted the inhabitant of this place to her wayward wandering. Before creeping into the hall, she peeked over her shoulder to look at the room properly. It’s greyed cast resonated sadly. A bed was pushed to either side, and what appeared to be a toy chest and a rack full of children’s shoes sat against the back wall with a scuffed armoire positioned between them. All was faded, suggesting that no one called this room theirs for a very long time.

Frisk eased the door shut behind herself and inched down the hall.

Sconces lit up with electric lights kept everything bright, washing out the wallpaper and emphasizing the dull state of the wood floor. There were more doors leading to a dead end, and in the other direction, what appeared to be an open space. Frisk hurried that direction, heart racing at her good luck upon spotting a door and a stairwell leading down. One of these had to be the way out. She went first for the door, only to find that it wouldn’t budge, as if someone had barred it shut. Frisk pulled at the handle, but her efforts remained fruitless. That left the stairs. The way out must be that way, unless there was a third exit lurking in the other rooms of this...house? Who knew where that skeleton lurked. Exploring would only increase her odds of being caught.

Each step down the stairwell was accompanied by a wince-inducing squeak. 

Quickly, quickly.

Frisk scampered down as fast as she could without jarring her bad arm (which wasn’t fast, but it was light years beyond the limping she did earlier). Her heart rate went even faster as she reached the bottom, most of the light snuffed. Eerie stone basement. Horror flick fodder. Fortunately, this hallway looked similar to the one she found after falling. Frisk forged ahead, clutching her arm to her chest, refusing to let the growing darkness smother her nerve. She had to do this. She had to escape. Weird flowers and casual grim reapers would not stop her from returning home.

The further she traveled, the cooler the air became. Colder and colder until she was shivering as she walked. Did it always get this cold underground? She must be pretty far down. Before she could question continuing this venture in bare feet and summer attire, Frisk spotted salvation. A towering stone door with that funny symbol she’d seen before carved onto its surface, akin to the triforce from the Zelda games but with wings. She hurried to it, palm flat and searching. There had to be a way to open it. She could feel it. This door should open, she just had to—

“heh. i see you’re up and running kiddo.”

—find the locking mechanism.

Frisk shot a look over a shoulder, spotting the skeleton standing there, hands tucked in his pockets. He wore that impassive grin of his, eyelids low, as if he’d rather be napping than interfering. His slippers looked a touch dirtier than before, a couple petals sticking to the pastel fluff. “I’m leaving,” Frisk said, her voice coming out as a croak. “And by the way, that soup tasted awful.”

“ _soup_ -osed to taste bad. sea tea is medicine, good for the body and soul, not the palate.” He remained where he stood, coming no closer. “once it wears off, you’ll be feelin’ that break again.” The skeleton shrugged, “since tori wouldn’t like you hurtin’ yourself, how ‘bout you be a pal and come back upstairs. catch another nap. count sheep and all that.”

She shook her head and went back to prying at the edges of the door. 

He sighed but otherwise did nothing to stop her. It wasn’t until she cracked the ends of her nails and the tips of her fingers began to bleed that he spoke again. “i know we got off to a _rocky_ start, but uh, could you not do that. even if you got outside, couldn’t let you go off alone.”

Frisk blinked back tears of frustration, “I don’t care what you, this Tori person or that flower think. I’m going home! You’re nothing but a kidnapper if you stop me.”

“you’re dead if i don’t.”

His voice went hollow, and when Frisk peeked at him, his sockets were empty. No trace of those fuzzy white discs. Between the void pools and lifeless rictus, there was no denying the implied threat. The way he spoke, it didn’t seem that he would be the one committing the violence, but rather, he bore the weight of knowing another would do so. As if he was the only thing between her and the grave. Ironic, given that he was a dead man walking.

Eyelights returned like will o’ wisps emerging from a midnight forest. 

“give this lazy bones a break, kiddo,” he said, motioning an elbow at her wrapped arm. “you have to be chilled to the bone. left behind your shoes and this…” His hand emerged from the pocket of his hoodie to reveal the heart pendant. Frisk touched her collarbone. In her haste to escape, she considered its loss a casualty of circumstance. “c’mon. leave the door alone.”

He stood there, hand outstretched with the necklace tangled between pale phalanges. 

Unbidden memories of heat intense enough to burn made Frisk claw again at the door. Was the tea wearing off? No, this pain was different. It was a ghost of agony long since healed away, accompanied by the taste of butterscotch and cinnamon. The electric fence in her brain roared then sputtered, the white noise clearing for a blink. It was then she knew exactly how the door opened. Nails dug into a hidden latch and with a heave, she shoved the stone barrier to the side, giving just enough space to slip free. There was no time to revel in victory before a frigid blast of air scraped across bare skin. Frisk staggered out to find herself ankle deep in snow.

“What? How is this possible?” There were trees and low bushes, green despite the stony ceiling hanging above. Light came somewhere, but it bore the artificial brightness of a grow lamp. Flakes of white floated down like powder sugar through a sift and her breath clouded about her mouth in a thin fog. She was trapped in a bizarre snow globe! 

“magic.”

Frisk lurched back. The skeleton that had been standing behind her, was now in front of her, just as nonchalant as ever. “How did you do that?”

He chuckled, “do what?”

She scowled at his evasion, “Magic isn’t real.”

“de- _nile_ aint just a river,” he countered. “either way you’re drowning in it.”

Her shivers were full body, her feet and hands gone numb, “Please, I need to know what’s going on. What is this place? Why won’t you let me leave?”

“heh. hehe. see kid, the fact that you don’t know any of that is the punchline to some awful cosmic joke. _tiba honest_ , it’s real unfunny.” 

She wanted to remember. She desperately wanted to know what she forgot.

Frisk felt her strength failing, the bolstering effects of the tea dropping away, “Who are you?” Her knees buckled and she sank to the snow. So cold. Her shorts were soaking through as she sat there, little more effective and just as pitiful as a kitten in a storm drain. She tilted her head up as he approached, looming tall.

“sans. sans the skeleton.”

He reached down and hauled Frisk to her feet. His bare palm for some reason confused her. She didn’t release his hand right away, fixated on the stray thought that there should be a whoopie cushion or a joy buzzer or some other gag. That his introduction wasn’t complete. 

“that’s the look of someone remembering something,” he tugged Frisk back into the stone basement, shutting the door behind them. She staggered helplessly behind, sagging against a wall as soon as they were inside. “things change, kiddo. actions have consequences, promises hold power. especially in the underground.”

“...I’m cold.” She suddenly didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Or think about it. She just wanted to close her eyes and wake up in her bed at the dorm. Chara could psychoanalyze this bad dream, call her stupid for getting freaked out, and then they could go get buzzed on dining hall coffee so that Frisk didn’t need to sleep for the next three days.

An arm wrapped around her waist and guided her toward the stairs, “let’s go.”

She nearly nodded off on her feet, but somehow, they made it back to the cozy warmth of the house. Sans ushered her to a matronly living room that looked like it belonged to a little old granny, basket of knitting supplies and faded recliner included. He nudged her into the chair and tossed a quilt over her lap—the panels forming a rather impressive stained-glass window with a rainbow of hearts displayed in a circle. 

Sans returned from the nearby kitchen with a steaming mug.

“More sea tea?”

“nah. fresh out. golden flower tastes better anyhow.”

Frisk accepted the mug, and breathed in. It smelled...

_Pain. Dark. Dust. WhyWhyWhy?_

Her breath caught, Sans watched. Knowingly.

_‘Worthless, smiley comedian.’_

Chara?

“drink. it’ll warm you up better than a blanket,” he said, shuffling to the bookshelf and pulling out a purple-backed tome. 101 Snail Jokes. “when you’re done, catch some z’s. tomorrow is gonna be a long day.” Frisk brought the cup to her lips, the sweetened tea somehow harder to swallow down than the salty slime soup, each mouthful leaving her choking on ribbons of emotion and pixelated memory. By the time she was done, the last dregs were essentially a shot of cold bitterness, and Sans had fallen asleep by the shelf. He sat on the floor, the joke book open on his lap, chest rising and falling steadily. 

Unable to summon the energy to hobble to a bed or dare another escape, Frisk curled in a ball on the chair. Sleep evaded but the warmth from the fireplace chased away the lingering chill, and the pain in her arm was almost ignorable. 

_'He would be easy to kill. A knife between the ribs and done. Or take one of those bookends and bash his skull in. He wouldn't even wake up before he died. Then you could plan a proper escape instead of playing good hostage for this skelefreak.’_

Frisk jolted at the thought. 

_‘There is a thin line between being nice and being a doormat, Frisky. Both him and Flowey made it clear that this place wants you dead. He just happens to be keeping his bony hands clean.’_

She couldn't kill someone! Where was this coming from?

_‘Where's your determination?’_

Frisk covered her ears in a vain attempt to silence that errant voice. She was scared and injured. Desperation made people do horrible things in the name of survival. But stabbing a guy while he slept?

_‘One day it'll be him or you. And I guarantee he won't choose your life over his, Frisk.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans is being evasive. Frisk is hearing voices. And Snowdin is frickin' cold.
> 
> Cross posted under this same name on [fanfiction.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13063943/1/Changeling)  
> I also have a [tumblr](https://catsitta.tumblr.com/) (because that's a thing).
> 
> Since I've last posted, I've put up a couple more stories. One is more Sans/Frisk, the other is Mafia Kustard. Check em out~!
> 
> Anybody have a clue where this all heading? Heh. Because there's gonna be more questions before Frisk gets answers.


End file.
